


Flesh Wound

by outdatedgoldfish



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, POV Outsider, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outdatedgoldfish/pseuds/outdatedgoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts (or maybe it ends) with the gunshots.  Three gunshots and breaking glass and a thud as Mike hit the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Another overly dramatic fic written just because I enjoy angryandangsty!Harvey and hurt!Mike and decenthumanbeing!Louis. Intended as gen (no pairings) but I realize that the way I wrote it can easily be interpreted as slash... read however you please lol. I give absolutely no explanation for why Mike was shot, and this is probably wildly inaccurate portrayal of hospital/police/security procedure. This fic is hilariously self-indulgent.

It starts (or maybe it ends) with the gunshots.  Three gunshots and breaking glass and a thud as Mike hit the floor.  For a split second, Louis can swear that all activity in the building stopped.  The murmur of the office cuts off, Harvey’s snarky comment goes unfinished, and the smart clack of Donna’s keyboard stops dead (stops dead: what an absurdly dramatic phrase).    
  
Then, almost with a fast-foward sound effect, the world returns to its regular, noisy state.  Except not so regular because people are shouting, some man with a gun is being tackled to the ground by security, Donna is calling 911, and there is a second thud as Harvey hits the floor next to Mike so fast that Louis is vaguely concerned for the well-being of his kneecaps.    
  
“Mike?” Harvey’s hands are grasping at Mike’s chest (how could there already be that much blood?) while simultaneously scrambling out of his suit jacket, right there in the hall twenty feet from Donna’s cubicle.  There is already a small crowd forming, watching in shocked horror as Harvey presses the expensive jacket to the chest wounds (it looks like one of the shots missed Mike, not that that’s a comforting fact when faced with the two that hit).  Louis kneels down as well, motions slowed in shock.      
  
Mike’s hands are grasping weakly at Harvey’s, so Louis pushes Harvey’s hands away to replace them with his own.  Harvey relinquishes his job reluctantly, but as soon as he does, he is clutching Mike’s bicep with his left hand and allowing Mike’s hands to wrap around his right wrist.    
  
“ _Just a flesh wound_ ,” Mike quotes weakly.  He has only been shot seconds ago (twenty, maybe thirty) but Louis could already see his skin paling and his lips turning blue.  He resolutely looks away (because lips shouldn’t be blue) and instead concentrates on staunching the flow of blood, remembering the last time he saw Mike covered in blood — when he got jumped and Louis was ready to leave Pearson Hardman.  Louis had grabbed his first aid kit and dabbed Mike’s face with anti-septic (Louis had a feeling that Mike needed a lot more than a cotton swab this time).    
  
“You can do better than that,” Harvey grunted.  “Donna’s baby nephew can quote that.”    
  
Mike’s eyes flutter shut.  “It’s the only relevant quote I can remember right now,” he admitted shakily.  His voice is weak and fear sours his attempt at humour.  Mike is _supposed_ to remember.  That’s his gimmick, his hook.  Mike is supposed to remember, but he can’t, and that just seems wrong.    
  
But Louis supposes it’s a day where everything is wrong.  Mike can’t remember, the office isn’t a safe space, and Harvey is panicking (if Mike’s thing is memory, Harvey’s thing is composure).    
  
Harvey purses his lips together before reassuring: “You’ll remember once we get you to the hospital.  They’ll fix you up and you’ll be driving the paramedics crazy with movie references.”    
  
A heavy silence coats the room for ten seconds while Harvey looks around wildly for said paramedics to arrive and Mike winces in pain (not unlike how he had winced at the anti-septic and honestly, Louis _has_ to stop thinking about the past when the present Mike is bleeding out in front of him).  It feels like the silence has gone on forever before anyone speaks.    
  
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Mike says, “that I got shot before… before I could employ one of one hundred forty-six.”    
  
The statement means nothing to Louis, but it clearly means something to Harvey because — if it’s possible — he tenses even more and shakes his head.  “Are you really throwing that in my face now, of all times?”    
  
Mike frowns.  “I wasn’t throwing.  It… it was a jo—“ he starts coughing before he can finish the word, and Louis blanches at the way he can feel Mikes blood pulse out under his fingers every time he coughs.    
  
“—joke,” Mike finishes.    
  
“Right.  I’m rolling on the ground laughing right now,” Harvey deadpans.    
  
Mike chuckles weakly (only a sharp breath out, really).    
  
“Besides,” Harvey adds, “if you were actually paying attention, you would realize I gave you three options _plus_ one hundred forty six, so your joke would be more accurate if you said one hundred forty nine options.”    
  
“Alright, alright, Mr. Memory,” Mike says, and he closes his eyes.  “See, that’s funny because I’m the one with the eidetic memory.”    
  
“And see, that’s funny because that’s my joke.”    
  
Mike chuckled again and his eyes open painfully.  “Glad to hear you’re keeping up for once.”  
  
The banter suddenly ends, leaving only more silence that is broken only by ragged breathing and meek coughing from Mike.  Mike’s gaze flits around while Harvey watches Mike and Louis watches Harvey.  There’s a barely noticeable tremor in Harvey’s jaw, and he is (no doubt unconsciously) attempting to soothe Mike by stroking light circles with his thumb.  It’s such an intimate sort of action that it catches Louis off guard; there’s a little part of Louis that anticipates a comment like “It would be a bad reflection on me if my associate died” to remind everyone that yes, Harvey R. Specter cares only about himself.    
  
“Class IV,” Mike suddenly murmurs.    
  
Harvey grip’s Mike’s biceps even tighter (he could call it a death grip, except he’s never been a fan of irony).  “What was that?” he asks, leaning in slightly to hear what Mike has to say.    
  
Mike attempts to swallows multiple times, but his throat pulses only slightly.  “Class IV blood loss,” he finally repeats.  He speaks slowly, stumbling over certain words.  “It involves loss of 40% or… or more of a victim’s blood.  Victim passes out, heart goes into ventricular tachycardia, transfusions necessary, and resuscitation… resuscitation is required to p-prevent death.”    
  
“Mike,” Harvey growls warningly, but Mike continues to speak.    
  
“If one of the major art—teries or veins in a human body is opened, the… the victim can potentially bleed out within minutes.” Louis sees the very moment that hopelessness and regret fills Mike’s eyes. “It’s been quite a few minutes,” Mike breathes.      
  
His eyes are fluttering shut more often than fluttering open now, and Harvey looks frighteningly… frightened.  Louis presses harder on Mike’s wound.    
  
“Stop talking like that,” Harvey says gruffly.  “Remember what I said about your tendency to panic?  We’re going to get you help soon.”    
  
“I can stop talking about it… can’t stop thinking it…”  
  
Louis can feel blood seeping through the jacket; he looks down sees blood between his fingers and it makes him sick.  So he pays attention to what Mike is saying (although he can’t quite say that what he hears makes him any less sick).    
  
“You save… saved me, you know.  From everything.” Mike’s voice is barely over a whisper.  “You’re the… best thing that ever… happened… to me.” 

Harvey shakes his head — once, twice, thrice — each time more vehemently than the first.  “Don’t you _dare_.  If you aren’t at the office before eight tomorrow, I will kill you.”  Louis has never heard Harvey so _desperate_ (desperate and almost hysteric).    
  
Mike’s lips curl up with monumental effort, in one last expression of amusement.  “Thank you,” he breathes, and then his eyes close.       
  
Harvey’s face goes still and he grips Mike’s shirt, shaking Mike’s dead weight.  “No,” he snarls, surprising Louis with his intensity.  “Don’t you _fucking_ die, Mike!  _Mike_.”    
  
This is when someone shouts: “Donna’s here with the medics!” and everything happens in a blur.  Mike is quickly transferred onto a stretcher and he is being whisked away to the hospital before Louis and Harvey can even get off the floor.    
  
Louis and Harvey are taken to the hospital five minutes after (they need to be checked for shock, apparently).  It takes what seems like an eternity (or maybe an instant) and then Harvey and Louis escorted into the hospital by the police officer, where they are immediately approached by a tall nurse.    
  
“How is Mike?” Harvey demands.    
  
The nurse takes a breath before speaking, and somehow Louis already knows what is coming next: “I’m sorry.  He was pronounced dead on the way here.”    
  
The nurse starts to say a few more comforting sentiments, but Louis waves them away.  Instead of sticking around, Louis (and the police officer) follow Harvey as he walks down this hallway and that until they reach a quiet, empty one.    
  
Harvey stares blankly at a wall for a long moment before letting out the most pained cry and driving his fist into the plaster.    
  
“Michael Ross,” he spits bitterly.  “I hate that kid.”    
  
And Louis hears what he wasn’t saying.    
  
(I loved that kid.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos, comments, etc are greatly appreciated!


End file.
